


Create and Destroy

by xdreamer747x



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Artist Gerard Way, Artists, Inspiration, M/M, Punk Frank Iero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-12 22:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdreamer747x/pseuds/xdreamer747x
Summary: Gerard is an artist struggling with the harsh reality that things were not as he had past thought. Trying to find that inspiration he had once had, he does his best to reclaim himself as he was before but maybe it was time for a new beginning, and along way the way meets a stranger intent on helping him.xxxThis is basically my brain in a book, my thoughts uncensored and unedited in story form, hope you find the same solace in it that i have feel free to leave a comment i'm always open to ideas and constructive criticism747





	1. A beginning

The ringing of the phone woke me, without thinking I sat up expecting a call, to find it was only the alarm; with a sigh I turned it off and threw it back onto the bedside table and fell back onto my pillows with a dull thump. With tired eyes I glanced at the exposed window, and watch as pink dusks the early morning sky. This has and will always be my favourite part of the morning, but the reasons have differed compared to a few years ago when everything was so much simpler, mornings offer a fresh start, when they sun creeps into the sky, new beginnings are offered and chances to create beautiful things arise.

Things have changed though, but yet at this time I still find the solitude in the beauty, it being the only time I can forget before everything comes rushing back forcefully invading my mind, the only time I really feel free, but it’s not the same kind of freedom as before it’s not as forced, not as empty.

(I would rather starve and die as an artist than be normal)

I pushed myself up so my back rested against the headboard not once being able to tear my eyes away from the rising sun, just silently watching it drift upward into the atmosphere. If I stay focused on it, maybe my head will be clearer for longer, being at a point where even a second more of calm feels ethereal.

My eyes shut for just a moment and the spell was broken and I was pushed by regretful hands back into reality.

(My magnum opus will remain my art for all of eternity, even when my name is forgotten, my essence remains).

I drifted down the hallway passing artwork on the wall as I went, it doesn’t look the same as it used to, it feels foreign, and I carefully untacked it from the wall. It wasn’t the right time for it, but the time would come eventually and it would be wrong to destroy it.

Sometimes art needs to be destroyed, it’s time was up and had served its purpose in this world, it’s unhealthy to hold on to the past.  
(If only I took my own advice, how much simpler would all this be)

Looking at the blank wall arose a familiar feeling of inspiration, but it was still too soon as the pit in my stomach remained, art should remain pure, if it’s not then where’s the solace, where’s the safety. It would be meaningless, and all art should have meaning, maybe not some metaphorical in depth psychology major level meaning, but it should leave something, anything.

I walked into my kitchen -barefoot- padding carefully; I brewed a cup of coffee and hugged it to my chest basking in the warmth as the early morning chill finally started to set in, the cold tile under me making my ankles ache, grabbing the carton of cigarettes off the granite counter, I pulled one out, wincing slightly as I looked at the grotesque image on the front, I don’t know why the manufacturers bother honestly, it’s not going to stop me. I had hated to give in to the artist stereotype of smoking but it just felt right, and who was I to deny myself of that?

Perching on a window sill, I shivered as a breeze came through the open window, smoke fading into nothing as it dissipated into the harsh wind. The familiar feeling of burning entered my lungs but I was past caring after all these years.

Stubbing the stick of nicotine out on the ledge outside the window, hearing it hiss slightly as the slight damp from last night’s rain devoured it and left it void of any purpose. Create and destroy.

Grasping my coffee and sipping carefully, I let the bitter liquid mingle with the aftertaste of the cigarette creating something that left an emotion building in my chest.  
I walked along to my studio, reaching for the handle.  
But it just wasn’t time yet, I needed to learn how to create again, how to destroy. (Oh the insatiable dream of balance).

But I’m trying, I swear I’m trying.

x  
x  
x


	2. Catharsis

All of my supplies had been shoved into drawers, every piece of art taken from the walls.

Some burnt, some carefully put out of eyesight. I was beginning to feel trapped in my own apartment. 

Too much has happened here for me to start again, I’ve done too many bad things.  
The old technique of blocking out bad emotions doesn’t work anymore, I let too much in, wanted my art to be real for once, but it just shattered my consciousness and left me broken,  
Not beyond repair, but the recovery was more painful than I could have ever thought.  
The urge is there but the thought makes my chest tighten, 

(It’s all or nothing, but I have nothing and want it all)

But I just can’t, I made my way once more to the small kitchen, a place that’s feels safer than the rest of the apartment, only good things here.  
Memories of early morning creations, coffee filled mornings with tired eyes and paint stained hands. 

I need to learn how to live in the real world again or this would never stop. I used to, was good at it too, could handle stress well. But that was a different part of my life, and I don’t want it back.

That part of my life was gone, destroyed, and I made my own way from then on.  
But it’s not realistic, I know it’s not but I don’t care. It was a survival method, a distraction.

I’m too self-aware for my own good, need to find that mind-set again before everything comes crashing down around me.  
(Everything is nothing and nothing is everything)

Hours later…

I pulled my laptop from under a stray cushion on my stained couch, typed my login into tumblr, and thought for a moment.

I needed inspiration, it’s difficult to spend so much of your life on one thing, dedicating every breath, every thought on one thing and then to have it so abruptly taken.  
I only hope I can find what I need before I completely lose myself.   
Wait- I thought

I’m trying to reclaim what is no longer there; my entire world is my creations, so why not create my entire world.  
A catharsis


End file.
